


Heroes always get remembered

by Neverwaswise



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blind Al - Freeform, But Deadpool is still spideys number one fan, Deadpool and Spider-Man don’t really know each other, Dopinder - Freeform, Enemies to Friends, Hurt/Comfort, Kitten Peter, Loki turns Peter into a cat because chaos, M/M, because how could he not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:11:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverwaswise/pseuds/Neverwaswise
Summary: In an Avenger’s battle with Loki that goes awry, Spider-Man finds himself transformed. This is the story of how Deadpool unwittingly saved Spiderman’s life and gave the hero a glimpse at the man behind the persona.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, I really should be sleeping. But instead, here is the beginning of a story that has been gnawing at me for days. Because I haven’t really seen this trope in this ship yet and I. Love. This. Trope.
> 
> Let me know if any of you know of one out there already. I would love to read it!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Let me know if you do in the comments below. Because we all know comments give writers life ;)

Peter did not feel the fight was going well.

Mostly because what had been a battle between the Avengers and Loki only a few minutes ago, had suddenly, resoundingly, become a battle between Loki and Spider-Man.

Loki, Asgardian God of Mischief.

Versus Friendly Neighborhood Kid Who Was Bitten By a Freaky Weird Spider and Now Is Just Trying to Do What He Can to Help People.

Sure he’d been doing this for a few years now. But that really just meant that he was out of high school and struggling to survive in a world where being smart and having an excellent GPA does not actually mean that college will turn into an Affordable Option ™ or that working and schooling and super heroing is in any way anything other than exhausting.

And the exhausted superhero was now all alone and stuck to the floor of the museum with his own webs somehow while the god in green and gold stood near his left hip and stared off into space.

Peter wasn’t even sure how his webs had suddenly become so strong. Being designed to hold his weight while web slinging and actually being able to resist his superhuman strength were two entirely different things. And as usually happened in this sort of fight, Peter had to temporarily resign himself to the boring and unhelpful explanation of ‘magic’ and move on. Because wondering about it was seriously distracting him from the dangers of an often murdery bad guy standing. Right. There.

“So,” Peter heard his mouth saying, “Now that you have me alone and all tied up, wanna tell me what you did with the other Avengers? I’m a great listener.”

The god looked down at him with vague surprise, as if he was wondering why Peter hadn’t disappeared with the rest of them.

“Or, we could just look at each other in silence, I can do that too,” Peter replied.

Loki grimaced, “That doesn’t seem likely so far.”

“Yeah, I get that sometimes. But, hey, talking is way less boring than just sitting around. I like moving and talking. I’m better at not talking if I’m moving. You could let me up and I can prove it?”

Loki looked up at the distant stone ceiling for a long moment and gave a most heartfelt sigh. Then his face tilted back down to look at Peter.

  
“I don’t have time to deal with you, little one. You’ll have to go chew at someone else’s robes,” Loki said.

And Peter was sort of ok with doing that. Not chewing on people’s clothes. Because that sounded like some weird Asgardian idiom. But he was ok with going somewhere else. Regroup. Find where the heck Loki put everyone. Yeah. Good ideas.

But then Loki’s hand chopped through the air, flashing blinding green like a comet over Peter’s vision and he heard the distant sound of breaking glass. And the world went really weird for a bit. Kinda like trying to figure out the difference between up and down after grabbing an hour of sleep when his body probably needed for like twenty hours and actual real food. Lots of food.

Except not right now. Because his stomach was roiling in a really bad dance with his vision and his brain and he was pretty sure he was going to throw up.

So he just lay there. And hoped it would end. That this wasn’t what Loki did to the other Avengers. Because it sucked. Really bad.

And then, like his head was breaking the surface of water, he could hear something. His barely twenty year old veteran ears knew the sound of battle when he heard it. With explosions and guns and… birds?

Peter opened his eyes. And then opened them wider because the combatants were actual giants.

The air was filled with smoke and the ground was trembling beneath his body. Sounds like rumbling thunder, god he hoped that was Thor, shuddered through Peter’s chest. He could smell the explosions now. Could taste them on his tongue. The smoke was stinging his eyes.

Then he heard, “-one of the nice dimensions. Somewhere with plenty of thongs for everyone. Yes, yes, Widow can have one too. Though she’d probably use it to strangle someone instead. Yes please! Oooor, maybe she’d teach Cap how to do that. Oh sweet majestic marbles, I can’t handle all of this genius I am spewing. Kinda like Loki’s stomach. Or is that blood? It doesn’t match the theme. Though now you look like Christmas, which goes with the horns. Oh, you’re good.”

Peter’s eyes watered desperately against the smoke as he realized who the vaguely black and red figure fighting Loki was.

Deadpool. Mercenary. Merc with a Mouth. Kinda funny. Really crazy. Often harasser of Spider-Man. A guy Peter had taken pains to stay away from.

Peter kinda felt like there was suddenly way too much chaos happening in one museum. A chaotic god fighting the guy chaos seemed to chew up and cough back up into most inopportune moments for the Avengers. And the X-men. Basically both of these men were trouble for all of the good guys. And the museum was definitely on fire now and maybe, probably, collapsing? Peter needed to get out of these webs, before the building burned down, or Peter suffocated in this smoke. Or something.

Oh hell his head hurt.

Valiantly determined to not throw up in his mask, he began to move his limbs against the hold of his webs. And moved them with startling ease.

He pulled him arms up close to his body. They felt weird. Like they bent in the wrong ways though only kinda. It was just something was wrong with them. He could hear his breathing getting louder now. If his arms were broken or Loki had just magically roofied him, he was going to have serious trouble getting out of here alive.

He pulled his hands up in front of his face. And something dark passed in front of his face.

Jolting in surprise, he cried out and thrust his hands out, trying to defend himself from an attack.

An attack that never came.

The dark shapes just waved in the air.

He blinked and stared at them.

They looked like…

Paws?

“What?” He said.

Or tried to.

There was a cat somewhere. He knew this because just as he was about to speak, he heard a little kitten mew that sounded just as beyond confused as he felt.

He turned his head to find it, this was a terrible place for a kitten to be, when he noticed his webbing had grown giant like Deadpool and Loki. It lay over his body like a thickly cabled blanket of…

Wait.

His body?

What was that dark stuff on his body-

Oh no.

Oh, Peter was definitely going to be sick.

Those paws were attached to his body. The weight on his face was not the same as his mask. He could feel the air against his, his fur. On his stomach. His face. His… whiskers.

Like a computer coming online, he was suddenly aware of his body again. Something was shifting against his legs. His tail. That was his tail. He could sort of feel himself involuntarily moving it as he scrambled to process what he was feeling, seeing, thinking.

And he was still gasping in the smoke.

“No! What! Why! What!” He babbled.

Or tried to, but all that came out was the nearly strangled mewing.

Suddenly he was flailing against the webbing, against his body, against the firelight and the chaos of sounds of a building burning down around him that were as crisp now as they had ever been with his super senses.

Until something huge and dark and hot fell on him and closed tight around his head. He screamed and opened his mouth without ever actually thinking of doing so. And bit down. Hard.

“Yeow, kitty! You got to ask for a belly rub before you tear off a limb! New to this cat thing?”

And then he was forcefully yanked out of the cocoon of webbing and dangled in the air by the grip on his head. The world spun and then he was staring way too closely into the white eyes of the Deadpool mask.

“I know this is supposed to be an art museum, but what is a kitten strangling to death in Spiderman’s webs supposed to represent. Spider-Man is cute as a kitten? Helplessly tangled in the weight of his superhero responsibilities? What the fuck does some artistic scrap booker know about Spidey. And even I know an actually strangled kitten would distract literally everyone from the rest of it. Amateurs. I should replace you with a stuffed one. Show them how its done.”

Peter felt his lips peel back from his fangs, holy shit he had fangs, and he let out a viciously tiny hiss. That didn’t even begin to communicate how not ok with all of this he was. Because, oh shit, Deadpool was going to stick his tiny furry body in a blender and feed the smoothie to some starving homeless person. Or something. He had no idea what the madman was going to do but he new was that his heart was pounding in his chest and his eyes were watering in the smoke and oh god Loki turned him into a kitten. And now Deadpool had him.

At least Deadpool didn’t seem to know he had the actual Spider-Man at his mercy. Maybe Peter could get out of this and Deadpool would forget all about him. Then he could get out of here and figure this out.

First, he had to get free.

Peter twisted his body, mostly in a strange kind of instinct, kinda as a stab in the dark. And lashed out with one of his back feet. Claws sprang out and caught on the leather and spandex covering Deadpool’s for arm. Peter jerked himself closer to the arm. And then he had his front paws up and the claws on those paws sank into the leather.

He hoped he was making it obvious he was done being held by the mercenary. He hoped the growl that was somehow coming out of his chest unbidden helped communicate the hint. Hoped the claws were actually getting through the thick fabric at all and that Deadpool would drop him.

“Aw,” Deadpool cooed, “You vicious motherfucker. Yeah yeah, let’s leave the big scary building.”

Peter clung to Deadpool’s forearm as the mercenary’s fingers pinched at the back of Peter’s neck, holding him firmly by the scruff. Suddenly Peter’s limbs were loosening on their own, his eyes sliding half shut and his tail curling against his body.

Woah.

“There you go, furry spawn of Satan,” Deadpool’s voice rumbled as he pressed Peter to his chest. Suddenly Peter was enveloped in warm and the smell of tacos and gunpowder. The stinging, smothering smoke was less here. And so Peter took a moment to just breathe in the semi breathable air and let Deadpool carry him out of the building. Since that was where he wanted to go and his body was suddenly feeling to heavy and he couldn’t keep his eyes open and with the inescapable suddenness of a face plant he was-

 

 ——————————

 

 

Peter woke up on something both soft and rough at the same time. He opened his eyes and at first he had no memory of what happened. He was staring at a metal wall. Metal ceiling. Barks and meows like a pet store. Then he saw the huge white plate in the corner of the metal cell with what looked like a pile of pale pinkish grey cat food and it all came back like a bucket of water to the face.

He was uncurling in a heartbeat from his nest of a dingy towel on its last leg. Spinning around.

The bars of the cage door didn’t obscure the image of a simple white walled room and an opposite wall covered in cages just like his. A small dog and two adult cats lay in their respective cages. One of the cats seemed to be the only one to notice his movements. It stared at him with bright orange eyes that contained all the boredom in the whole universe. Beside the cages there was a door. With a big glass window that said Henderson Animal Rescue Center.

And through the window. A familiar red and black head.

Peter’s paws were suddenly up on the bars of the cage. His tiny little kitten voice barely audible in the huge room.

“No! Come back!” Peter was trying to say. Screaming in his head, “I’m right here! I’m a person! A human!”

But then Deadpool was turning, blowing a kiss at him through the window and then walking out of view.

Peter stood with his paw up on the cage bars and stared.

He’d left him here?

Of course. Why not. Better then dumping him on the street. It was actually kind of… responsible of the murdering mercenary. Rescuing a kitten and then dropping it off at an animal shelter was not at all what Peter would have expected of the -

No!

Now he was trapped here with no way to get out. No, it was ok. He was still a human in here. Don’t panic. It was going to be ok. He just had to calm down. Had to think.

Peter sat down on his haunches and pulled determined, rapid breaths into his little furry chest. His tail curled around his feet as he closed his eyes and tried really heard not to freak out.

 

 ———————————-

 

It only took him a few hours to escape.

Because it only took the shelter employees a few hours before they came into the room and dragged him out of his cage. The employee, a woman with warm, gentle hands, carried him past the lobby desk. He caught a glimpse of the front door here, and the familiar shapes of New York pedestrians walking past the windows on the sidewalk outside.

Then he was carried into a third, much smaller room. With cabinets, animal anatomy posters and a metal table. He was plopped down on the table, the metal cold against the pads of his feet. And then he endured the most horrifying physical inspection of his life, his pathetic growl a constant rumble in his chest.

Then he saw the needle. And without another thought, he kicked out at the woman who was inspecting him. Specifically at that huge needle she was trying to stick him with. And luckily his new body was extremely agile. Because when that needle sank into the woman’s hand, for a split second he was the last thing on her mind. Just long enough for him to crash to the floor and dash out of the door that opened when the woman shouted in pain. He zipped between the other person’s legs, skittering against the tile of the floor for a terrifying moment, before he was finally able to get some kind of traction with his soft little kitten feet and his claws.

Then both shelter employees were chasing him around the lobby, their shoes squeaking against the floor, their bodies bent down and hands grasping in futility.

He was the fucking Spider-Man. Even like this, they didn’t stand a chance of catching him.

At least for a few more seconds.

He just twisted out of reach of fingers that nearly closed over his tail when he heard It. The slide and click of a doorknob turning. And then the squeaky old door to the street was opening. A man and two children were walking into the room.

Peter was off like a shot.

Between all of the new legs that jerked in surprise.

“Close the door!”

“Grab it!”

But It was too late. Peter was free!

His triumph only lasted an instant however as he was suddenly hard pressed to not get immediately trampled by a forest of indifferent feet. The sounds and smells of the New York street would have been overwhelming if he hadn’t been super human for years. If he hadn’t been surrounded by it his entire life. It was still a scrambling, desperate test of his agility and speed. Without his Spider sense. Which he hadn’t had to do for a long time.

As it was, he reached the relative safety of an alley panting for breath and one paw throbbing with pain he couldn’t remember the cause of.

He huddled in the shadow of a dumpster and watched people walking by. Then he turned his head and took In the alley around him and the buildings rising so much higher around him than he remembered. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was, but it was New York City. His city. All he had to do was get to Avenger tower or Aunt May’s apartment and he’d be ok.

No reason to panic. He so had this.

 

 —————————————

 

  
Three days later, Peter had to admit that he definitely did not have this.

It was the middle of the night and he was curled up beneath yet another dumpster in a too long series of huddling beneath dumpsters. His feet were sore and cold and his fur was covered in filth that he had inevitably collected as he tried to make his way across a city that did not lend itself well to a kitten traveler.

The second day after escaping the shelter, Peter had paused in exhaustion beside a dying bush, staring hungrily at a hot dog cart. He was so hungry. Because while he knew the dumpsters contained food, he could smell it, he couldn’t… actually get into them. He was far too small. Most of the disgusting stuff stuck in his fur was from his futile little jumps up the sides of dumpsters.

And after those humiliating failures, he had quickly needed a nap. Which seemed to happen all of the time. One second he was awake and alert. The next, collapsed wherever he happened to be.

He was getting somewhat better at recognizing when it was going to happen now. To get to a somewhat safe place while his tiny body betrayed him and dropped him into oblivion. He was worried about it. But he couldn’t really stop it. He hadn’t really spent too much time around kittens before this. Wasn’t sure how much was wrong with his body. Hoped he didn’t die before he could get to someone who could actually help him.

No. He’d be fine. It was ok.

Until he paused to rest near that hot dog cart, breathing in the fumes being the only thing he could do that was even close to eating.

And as his exhausted mind drifted, his body started to move on its own. His paw drifting up to his face and his mouth opening to drag his tongue across his disgusting fur. The taste of pavement, dirt, ew, shuddered through his body and he gagged out foamy white liquid onto the concrete.

He stared at the mess he’d made and the mess that he was carrying with him on his fur. And all of those nasty smells suddenly blended together with the aroma of the hot dog cart and twisted at his stomach with a vicious tug.

Peter turned and ran back into the alley. Fleeing the smell of food that he had no hope of obtaining.

And he heard a sound coming out of him. A rumbling, hoarse purring. Even though he felt no where near relaxed. Why was he doing that. Wasn’t purring a happy cat sound? He was distinctly not happy. His chest was tight like some part of him was crying.

It was at that point that it started to rain.

 

 —————————————

 

Huddling beneath that dumpster at the end of the third day, Peter was struggling against the pain of hours of continuous shivering and a gnawing, maddening hunger. His body felt tired. Not the same kind of tired that would fall on him like a ton of bricks. He felt a tiredness like frost crawling across a window in winter and, somewhere beneath the exhaustion, he was terrified.

But he didn’t have any energy left and it was night and his only other option was to find some person walking by to feed him. Surely there were people who would feed a filthy kitten that stank of piss and slime and other awful things that lived beneath and around dumpsters.

Peter wanted to laugh, but it always came out a pitiful little meow that hit too close to the reality of how truly fucked he was.

As he curled up, absently listening to the rain, he thought for the thousandth time about the rest of the team. Were they alright? Had they escaped from wherever they were? Or were they waiting captive for him to come and help them? Were they hurt?

Peter heard himself mew softly as his heart twisted in pain. He was failing his friends. He could be their only hope and Peter was curled up in an alley, probably dying in a body too small to get to any help in time.

 

—————————————-

 

 

The next morning Peter saw Iron Man roar by overhead, completely unable to get his attention like this. But just seeing that familiar armor swelled his whole body with relief. Someone was out there. Tony would make sure they were all safe. Or If it wasn’t Tony in the suit, Pepper and Rhodes and Friday would find the others. It would be ok.

He just had to worry about getting himself to safety now.

Grasping that thought with both paws, Peter gathered the last fumes of his determination and got moving. He had to get there. Get to them.

That morning he coaxed a high school boy into dropping some of his sandwich for Peter to snatch off the sidewalk and run away with. He did this by standing a safe distance away from the kid and widening his eyes as much as possible while releasing the full power of his pitiful meowing.

Safely hidden beneath a car with his prize, he took his time gnawing on it, very aware he couldn’t afford to throw it back up.

Halfway through it, he threw up anyway.

And then his body forced him into one of its surprise black out naps.

He woke up again to the relative quiet of night.

Cars rolled by occasionally. People were walking by on the sidewalk. Sickly yellow light splashed under the car where he lay.

He lifted his head at a strange sound right near his head.

A dark body was right next to him, staring at him with dead, shiny black eyes. And then its head split in half and huge yellow teeth lashed out. Fire ripped across his face. Peter screamed and thrashed to his feet. Panic raced through his limbs, jerking him back. Away. More pain at his side.

It was a rat.

A rat was attacking him for what was left of his food.

He didn’t care.

He was already rushing blindly out from under the car. His exhaustion forgotten. His heart pounding against his ribs.

With one eye open, he shot into the shadow of an alley and kept running.

Until his body just… stopped.

He crumpled into a pile in the sloshing mud of a pothole and just focused on breathing for a long time.

Then he heard a sound.

It sounded like a groan of pain. From a person.

Peter felt his ears swivel toward the sound, the rest of him too tired to move. His torn face was a pulsing beacon of heat behind his eyelids as he tried to force his uninjured eye open enough to look for the source.

Once his eye was open, it did not take him long to find it.

A body in a red and black suit was lying less than three feet away.

It wasn’t moving. But Peter knew he had heard it make a sound.

Peter realized he could smell blood, though maybe just his own, gunpowder and tacos.

The combination of smells rang through his exhausted brain like a distant chime and he lifted his head.

The vague image of a body sprawled in the gutter solidified into the obvious form of a person that could only be Deadpool.

Peter stared at the body, feeling the creepy chains of inevitability pulling him into this part of town at this point in time. To watch this murderer lie there, more abandoned and alone than Peter was. At least if Peter died here, there were people looking for him. Not that they had any hope of finding him.

But lying in the muddy pothole, Peter knew that no one was looking for Deadpool.

And Peter remembered the feel of those hands cradling him against a warm chest.

Knowing it might be the last decision he made, Peter made it anyway.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Peter forced his paws beneath his body once more. And then he walked.

The long endless distance of three feet between the pot hole and the still body of the mercenary.

And then he collapsed against the regenerating man’s warmth and immediately sank into darkness.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! Hope everyone is doing ok and has seen Deadpool 2 because oh my god its such a great movie.
> 
> Anyways, here’s the second chapter :) Hope you like!

The first thing he notices is that his paws are no longer cold.

Peter’s eyes open slowly. Well one of them does. The other is still a throbbing pounding bloom of pain where the rat had bit him. The other eye opened reluctantly, the nasty guck that had been in his eyes since yesterday seemed to be coming out of his nose now too. And his bones ache like he has the flu. Well, that was probably because he did. Could cats get the flu? Peter knows that’s a stupid question the second he thinks it, but he feels awful and the world is full of a soothing rumble. Like purring. Coming from his chest

Damn, he was purring again.

Why the hell was he purring again.

Well, his feet were warm. So that was something. Actually, his chest and belly were warm too. What the hell was he lying-

Peter had looked up as he thought the question.

Up into the white eyes of a red and black mask.

He froze. On the warm chest. Deadpool’s chest. Where he was lying. In the same alley were he had…had…

Fuck. Where he had cuddled up to Deadpool. For survival. He hadn’t had a choice.

And now Peter was staring up at Deadpool, not moving from where he was curled into a very warm ball. Deadpool was sitting slumped partially against a rotting pile of pallets and the wall. His arm was tucked beneath Peter, giving him a surface to sit on so he didn’t go sliding off.

Peter kinda wanted to. So he could run. But he also kinda knew his body was just about done and that he wouldn’t make it far.

It was so fucking weird that the warmest and safest he had felt since this all happened was right here, held by a murderer. A completely insane one at that. Of course the only other person he’d been held by in this form was a woman pulling a ginormous needle on him. But that didn’t warm him to the idea of trying yet another person.

Peter realized they had been staring silently at each other for a very long moment. Peter hadn’t ever been around Deadpool while he was silent. It was unnerving.

And they were still staring.

Then a sneeze slammed up between Peter’s eyes and took him completely by surprise. It wasn’t a dainty sneeze. It was the sneeze of the dying. It shook his entire tiny body and he almost tumbled right off Deadpool’s chest. But a large hand snapped up and held him in place.

“So I see you are doing well for yourself,” Deadpool finally said calmly, conversationally, like they were making small talk over tea, as Peter struggled to get his heart back under control from the surprise of his sneeze, peering up at the mercenary through one bleary eye, “Left the dubious shelter of the cushiony fat cat life as some child’s half strangled rag doll. Cut out onto the streets to make your way in the big bad world. Make a difference. Bust some heads for the little guy. Oh shit, baby Satan, I can totally hear your theme song! Its bad ass! Fuck yes it has kazoos. What do you mean he can’t have theme music. He’s obviously a main character. Big brown eyes and he smells like garbage!”

There was a silence.

“Ok, maybe some main characters don’t smell like garbage. But they are an affront to the rest of us who do! Tell em, fluffy Fury! There’s –“

Peter’s ears swiveled to the sound of footsteps coming down the alley. He slowly turned his head, the muscles in his neck almost audibly groaning. Peter suspected he was running a fever.

Two men with guns and frowny faces were standing halfway between them and the mouth of the alley.

Peter felt his body tense, though why it bothered, he had no idea. What the hell was he going to do. Here he was weighting barely more than a crumpled up Taco Bell bag and five minutes from dying of whatever plague he’d managed to contract from the underbelly of New York prepping himself for a fight or flight response. Hah. More like a die or pass out response, F and F’s littler sibling who is an absolute mess.

But the hand that was still cupped over most of his body, tightened just a little and Peter remembered who that hand belonged to. These guys looked a lot less dangerous than voodoo zombies with laser eyes or swarms of sentient robot wasps. And somehow recalling the things Deadpool had helped the Avengers fight in the past gave Peter just enough calm to wait and watch.

“Came back for sloppy seconds, kids?” Deadpool said, rising slowly to his feet, “I need to see ID and I’ll need five hundred dollars up front. Each. Unless you want to go together. I can take it and you two look like your special bond would make it hard to go separately.”

That got one of the guns up and aimed at them.

“You killed our boss! We hired you! You went back on your contract and killed him!”

Deadpool made and odd little half chuckle sound and said, “Ah, no. Your boss hired me and some Slade rip off wannabe to kill the same person. In some kinda of fucking annoying hunger games au shit show and that… is why your boss is now cosplaying Rudolph with his own arms. But he was breathing when I left him. Well, there was air escaping from somewhere on his body. Maybe from where the pool stick was aerating his lungs. Or was it his heart. Its so hard to tell in those weapons merchants. Ask Iron Maiden. He had to put a light bulb on his heart just to keep track.”

Peter was decidedly tense now. Because yeah, Deadpool was something warm and vaguely familiar in a very suddenly cold world, but he. Was. A. Killer.

What the hell had Peter been thinking.

He began to feebly struggle against the chest beneath his paws. Ready to leave. Ready to get as far as he could from the mercenary. From this alley. He’d figure it out. He always did. There were definitely way better ways than this. This plan had definitely been the illness and the starvation and the desperation talking.

Suddenly gunfire cut through the chatter and yelling and the body beneath Peter’s paws jolted backward.

“Ah!” Deadpool squeaked as Peter watched a trail of blood trickle from a new hole in the chest of the Deadpool suit a few inches from Peter’s head, “Shut the fuck up, you’ll wake the baby!”

Then the arm not holding Peter shot up. Two rapid shots. Bam. Bam. And then the sound of bodies crumpling to the pavement.

“Oh, shh shh, child of warm brown darkness,” Deadpool cooed as Peter was suddenly struggling against his hand, “Did the disappointingly pointless douchcanoes upset you. There there, trash panda. It’s time for tacos and an interspecies bonding montage!!”

Then Peter was jolted as the man suddenly began the most energetic skipping that Peter had ever witnessed. And he was singing something that sounded a lot like the Indiana Jones theme song remixed with Madonna’s ‘Papa Don’t Preach’. And the tossing and the really off beat remix were awful enough that Peter finally just pressed his nose and forehead to the man’s chest and rode it out.

He lay there limply as Deadpool bought tacos from a black windowless van, then yelled at someone on his cellphone in a language Peter did not recognize as he carried Peter into a very moldy smelling apartment building.

Then the phone was smashed against a wall with a startling crash of metal and glass against soggy drywall.

“Man, that guy makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Like a cannibalistic ex-mommy bear. Hey, snookums! I have found us a secret lair!” Deadpool said as he pushed open a door and carried Peter into a room. Peter very reluctantly lifted his head from Deadpool’s chest and gave the room a glance. And then immediately regretted it. If Deadpool had actually stumbled upon this place he had done it long before today.

While it wasn’t exactly the nightmare Peter would have imagined, it gave the distinct impression that every surface in sight could potentially give someone hepatitis. The walls were stained and mangled beyond repair, a dingy greenish grey in some potentially unstained places. The floors weren’t much better. There was carpet. More or less. But it looked like what the undercarriage of a subway car probably felt like. And then there was every piece of furniture in the place. A huge brown lazy boy with busted seams and stuffing pouring out. The headrest and most of the back was stained completely black. A huge, scarred and scratched tv with an xbox balancing precariously on top of a tower of pizza boxes beside it.

And half a couch. Literally. A half a couch was sitting there like a shark had taken a chomp out of it and swam off with the other half.

Peter was still staring at the couch as Deadpool rambled on about Peter not needing to pay rent and asking him about his litter preferences. As Deadpool walked further into the apartment, Peter got to find out that Deadpool had enough opinions about cat litter to start his own cat litter critique blog.

Then, suddenly Peter was being pulled away from the warmth of Deadpool’s chest. For some reason that was suddenly the most frightening thing ever and his claws came out like tiny little trigger happy panic knives. They caught deep in the red of the suit and a growl stumbled its startled way out of Peter’s chest.

“Sorry I didn’t run that past you, small knife toupee, but everything will be ok,” that huge, warm hand was rubbing down is back soothingly as Deadpool spoke, “We’re just going to put you in this box while we get the bath ready. I don’t have any of those yellow ducks, but I have a pink dildo that is pretty cute and always makes me feel much calmer. Actually I think its probably bigger than you are so maybe for this beginner bath I don’t give you any bath toys large enough to drown yourself with. I don’t know kitten CPR.”

And while most of that, if not all of it, should have been throughly alarming, and yeah, somewhere in the back of Peter’s mind it was, Deadpool had pressed him back to the warm chest and that hand was making his body and mind bliss out like he was sunbathing in the Bahamas. And he thought he definitely wanted that bath. Had wanted that bath days ago. Probably wouldn’t even notice the disturbing sex toy in the water with him if he could just get clean. He had several firmly repressed memories of worse things he had touched in the last few days.

He felt one of Deadpool’s fingers rub between his ears and Peter’s head was suddenly pressing up into the pressure. And the growling was gone, he noticed. Firmly and loudly replaced with purring.

“Alright, let’s do this bath because whatever horrors have gotten into that eye are complete assholes and we are going to annihilate them with soap, the power of love, and kitten friendly antibiotics. Yes, of course there are. Sure, I know a guy. And he really doesn’t like it when I break his legs. So I’m pretty sure we’ll get the good stuff. Ok, maybe we’ll get some of that good stuff too but shh, don’t talk about it in front of the baby.”

Peter cracked open one eye in annoyance. Every time he was ready to sink into something like relaxation, Deadpool had to go and say something horrifying like that.

Though annoyance was more conducive to relaxation than terror about things he currently had no power to control. So maybe he would get to taking a fucking break from the rollercoaster of emotions he’d been riding soon.

Relaxation by overexposure to trauma and danger. Sounded super healthy.

Deadpool was reaching past him with a free hand as he somehow used the same hand he was holding Peter with to also scratch under Peter’s chin. And, oh god, that felt like spreading out on a couch and kicking off your shoes after a twelve hour work day. Accept for the gritty, slimy feel of whatever was on his fur moving with the touch. But he could hear water sputtering out of cranky pipes and he was so fucking ready to be clean.

So he happily stayed where he was and allowed himself to be petted as Deadpool filled a pot with water from the sink and placed it on the stove.

Hang on.

Peter turned his head and watched as the gas burning stove clicked on, immediately accompanied by the weirdest smelling smoke Peter had ever smelled coming off of a stove.

What the hell was with the stove. What about his bath?

Was bath a euphemism for being boiled alive and then eaten like a very filthy and furry lobster?

Peter meowed as he waved goodbye to that warm, soothing calm he’d been feeling.

“Hey, hey,” Deadpool rumbled at him, “Never seen one of these before? Well don’t you worry, Pikachu. This is going to heat up the water. This place isn’t exactly Avengers tower so I don’t have the endless hot water like you might find in another safe house. Yeah, other safe houses have hot water. How do I know, because I am a connoisseur of safe houses and once I remember where my other ones are I’m going to shut your fucking mouth by drowning in a safe house full of hot water, Shape of Water style,” Then Deadpool sighed, “Yes, we can drown while fucking Namur, god, twist my arm some more.”

Peter knew about the voices. Knew that most of what Deadpool had just said was not directed at Peter. It was still a weird feeling to be alone with a person and listen to a conversation that person was having with themselves. But he didn’t really care because Deadpool was poking a finger into the pot of water and humming quietly to himself. Peter looked up to see Deadpool looking down at him appraisingly.

“I think we’re going to need more water for this mission.”

Peter thought of how much water was currently heating on the stove and whole heartedly agreed.

“I’m going to set you down real quick. Stay as still as your emaciated, probably worm ridden body implies you will. I gotta go get some things.”

And then Peter was being lifted away from Deadpool. He physically restrained himself from clinging again. But even with his best effort, the feeling of being cupped helplessly in someone’s hands and then lifted into open air was unsettling enough that the claws on his front paws came out and snagged in the suit.

Deadpool paused in his lifting and somehow managed to express silent mockery through the mask, which of course he then followed up with verbal mockery, “If you love me let me go, Logan. I promise to give you the snuggles of a lifetime when we’re done. You know why? Because your tiny, angry, filthy little body is filling my world with fucking sunshine and acid tripping rainbows and how are you so tiny,” Deadpool’s voice was getting very high pitched now. It was making Peter’s ears hurt, so he angled them back as volume control, “I mean, look at your little feet. I think there’s vomit on two of them but they’re just cuter than Spidey trying to awkwardly escape from my devilishly sexy seduction songs.”

Peter remembered those songs. Had tried so hard to forget because they were the things of lifelong trauma. No one really lived down Deadpool warbling Britney Spears ‘Crazy’ while the entirety of the Avengers team and some of the x-men watched with all of the quiet fascination of a theatre of people watching a car crash in slow motion. While they’re all in one of Tony’s jets, from which there was absolutely no escape.

Yeah, Peter remembered the songs.

Suddenly, Peter was jolted out of his traumatized remembering by Deadpool’s face jolting forward and placing a gentle but loud kiss to the uninjured side of Peter’s face.

“Mmmmmwa! Thanks for being such a good distraction, Purrminator. Our drinks are done.”

Peter realized he could hear the water boiling. And knew this was the moment of truth where he either got a bath and lived or he got a bath and was boiled alive. Either way, he told himself, he’d finally be clean. So. Silver lining.

“Ok, I still gotta get more water going, so sit in this box of bullets while I get some stuff.”

And then suddenly Peter was dropped softly into, yup, a box of bullets. An actual cardboard box that he could have still fit in if he were still human that was half full of bullets.

Peter stared up at the square patch of ceiling framed by cardboard, no Deadpool to be seen. Then he sat up a bit and meowed. Loudly. What the hell! The water was ready. He wanted that bath!

By the time he stumbled over to the side of the box, testing his claws on the cardboard, he could hear clanging near the stove. And Deadpool talking. Of course.

“-Worry, baby. I got all the good stuff right here. You’ll be refracting light like Mr. Clean’s head on Christmas when I’m done with you. But you’re not going to like it. Cat’s are hydrophobic which means you’re non polar which means you could probably float on the top like an otter if you thought happy thoughts. Which you won’t cuz you’ll be in water. But sometimes you have to take a trip through the oven to come out a real pizza on the other end. Oh shit, food. You hungry, Salem?”

Peter gave an emphatic meow in answer without a second of hesitation.

“Ok, I think there’s an old lady two floors down who made meatloaf yesterday. I’ll pose as her grandson and steal it once we’re done here.”

Peter’s next sound was decidedly laced with disapproval. And didn’t Deadpool have tacos sitting in a bag somewhere?

“Don’t be like that. She’s cool with it. She’s into other, more fun kinds of role play too. A superb and classy lady. Ok, I think I’ve got this all ready to go. Come here, you.”

And suddenly Deadpool was leaning headfirst into the box and scooping Peter up carefully, the mercenary’s body noticeably shaking with enthusiasm. Peter was frankly a little overwhelmed with how not terrified he was quickly becoming with Deadpool.

Or maybe it wasn’t that he was not terrified but that being terrified was quickly being left in the rear view mirror by more important priorities.

Because he was. So. Fucking. Ready. For. A. Bath.

When he was lifted back to Deadpool’s chest, he saw the new additions to the stove. A metal ammo case. A slightly cracked hello kitty flower pot. A bed pan. All were currently new and strange stove fellows with the lone pot that was boiling cheerfully away. Peter was concerned for a moment about the flower pot when he noticed the burner beneath the pot wasn’t on. As he watched, Deadpool poured the boiling water from the pot into the flower pot. He could hear it splashing water that was already inside. Ok. Peter wasn’t getting bathed in boiling water. That was reassuring.

“There was a dream that was Rome,” Deadpool mumbled solemnly as he lifted Peter from his chest again and made intense eye contact with him through the mask, “Let’s fairy grandmother this bitch, Mia.”

And then Peter is lowered into the sink that is only a little bit crusty at the edges and Deadpool is pouring the contents of the flower pot very slowly over Peter’s back.

The warm water running through his fur is … unpleasant. But he holds very still while the water runs an unsettling shade of brown down his sides and legs until it swirls down the drain. He huddles down a bit as the chill of the air brushes against his now wet fur. But then the water moves and his head is dowsed in a wave of warm water.

His body lurches backward without thought, his mouth opening and his nose snorting desperately to clear it of water. There’s water in his eyes, his nose. His ears! Which was a terrible terrible sensation that he did not like. His head shook vigorously for a second as he backed against the cold wall of the sink and sneezed three times.

“Oh, hah, sorry, snookums, oh Logan’s hairy ankles,” And Deadpool’s words devolved into giggles despite the glare Peter was beaming out of his one good eye, “Ok, ok I’ll be good but we still gotta wash your face, baby, because damn whatever mangled you got you good. Hold still.”

And then there was a warm, wet scrap of what looked like bandage gauze in Deadpool’s hand and he was gently swiping it across Peter’s face, not really touching the wound but it still made Peter flinch.

“Shh, shh, its ok,” Deadpool mumbled as he focused on his task.

Peter made the conscious decision them to just go limp in Deadpool’s hands. For a fuzzy amount of time the water would wash over him and then a fresh pad of gauze would make a few careful swipes at something somewhere. All the while Deadpool softly sang ‘No Diggity’ to the sound of the sloshing water and the gurgling of the drain.

A few times Peter’s eye cracked open when Deadpool pulled something caught in his fur, and then he open the eye wide when he heard a knife slide out of its sheath. But he still let Deadpool bring it close enough to cut a wad of his fur free.

Peter could feel that face to pavement sleep coming at him fast. As Deadpool finally plugged the sink and began to fill it with deliciously, blissfully warm water that sank heavy and deep into Peter’s aching little bones, Peter thought vaguely that he should stay awake to make sure the mercenary didn’t drown him.

But he couldn’t do it. He fell asleep to the sensation of floating in warm clean water, head held carefully above the water as Deadpool poured cold dish soap onto his side.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter goes to the vet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Welcome to chapter three. Hope you guys are having a good week and that those moments you aren’t working are treating you well. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and please comment if you like it :)
> 
> Update: Holy shit updating this chapter because this is the day I discovered the music video for Ashes by Celine Dion. Holy shit I have no idea what my emotions were doing while I watched yeah I already knew Deadpool in heels would help me transcend reality. How did I not know this existed?!?! Holy fucking shit.
> 
> Yeah, might just delete this freak out later but I WILL NOT delete the link. Oh my god.
> 
> If anyone wants to freak out about stuff with me, I live on tumblr as neverwaswise when I’m not busy selling my soul to corporations for change. Please come talk to me and we can freak out about things together!
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=CX11yw6YL1w

Peter woke up to smells entirely different from the mold, old smoke, and rotten food smell of Deadpool’s apartment. Not that that was a relief because instead he was smelling antiseptic and animals. And somehow he knew he was smelling the scent of terrified animals. Weird.

He opened his one healthy eye and groaned at the stiffness of his body. Or mewed. He mewed at the stiffness. Because he was a cat. A tiny helpless cat. Who felt like he’d taken a tumble in a clothes dryer. Because everything hurt but he was so warm. And he smelled like lemons and dish soap and god it was so good to be clean again.

Peter wasn’t particularly happy to wake up swaddled like a newborn baby in a towel with tiny little Spider-Man logos all over it. Ok, the irony of the towel was going to get a chuckle out of him no matter what. But a chuckle in his cat body was apparently a weird little hiccup noise and it startled him back to the fact that Deadpool was currently carrying Peter’s swaddled kitten body in the crook of his arm and that noise had definitely gotten his attention.

“Holy shit, fuzzy forgotten nugget, what the hell was that? Sliced about two years off my immortal life with the sharp razor edge of its cuteness,” Deadpool cooed.

Peter hoped his lack of amusement was being communicated with only one eye.

“Aw, its like I’m already your favorite person. Don’t worry I won’t let anything hurt you, sugar baby. Right after I let this asshole, who admittedly possesses a great love of animals over any sort of affection for people, which yeah can’t blame him, but always tempts me with the sweet pleasure of tossing my self control like a garter out the window and unaliving him, stab you with several needles since the shelter I gifted you to last time apparently didn’t get a chance to do it. Shame on you, Selena, Wally Westing your way out of their loving arms. They were inconsolable.”

Peter didn’t hear most of that, because his attention had attached onto ‘stab you with needles’ and he thought he was about to hyperventilate. What, he didn’t like needles. And the situation was no better when he was this tiny and there was an old guy standing there frowning. And Peter did not like his chances now that he was exhausted and his stomach felt like a black hole that would never again he sated as it twisted and stabbed at his other not stomach organs with relish and malice and freaking Deadpool would definitely catch him before he got out the door. If someone opened the door. Peter didn’t see any other people around. There were no windows showing a busy sidewalk of potential distractions. It was an entirely different situation and yeah, Peter was definitely breathing harder now as he struggled to get out of the towel.

Deadpool’s hand fell on top of him, fingers digging into the towel to, surprisingly, pull him out.

“Ready to get on the road, Furiosa? Yeah, needles get me all excited too, I get you fam.”

Peter snapped his claws into the leather of Deadpool’s glove the second they were free, paired them with his tiny fangs biting down with all of his strength. Then Peter held on and growled.

But Deadpool was apparently ignoring the teeth in his hand and looking up at the frowning man now, “If you do anything to this sweet and gentle angel, I will personally reenact every one of the these animal disease posters on your face.”

The vet apparently felt that rolling his eyes was the correct response to that, “What does that even mean. Are you going to give me gingivitis? Mange? Maybe worms?”

“None of that sounds unpleasant to you?” Deadpool responded with what Peter would call astounded exasperation.

“Not as unpleasant as having you in my office. So if somehow I find myself completely unable to utilize the most basic of skills I have spent years learning and then implementing in my job, you can rest assured I have already been punished.”

“Damn I want to kill you like everyone wants to magically cuddle heal the Winter Soldier. Or watch someone beautiful do it.”

The vet just sighed and held out his hands.

“It was a metaphor, doctor. Aint’ no one wants to cuddle your crusty ass.”

“The patient, Deadpool. Currently gnawing off your hand?”

Deadpool looked down where the man was pointing and startled, “Oh yes, the avatar of snuggles. Here you go.”

Peter somehow managed to hiss with a mouth full of Deadpool’s hand as he was lifted closer to the vet. He tore a paw free of its death grip and swiped at the vet’s hand. His claws connected, he knew they did, but the vet ignored it completely and Peter just wanted to cry frustrated tears because damn it he didn’t want shots!!

But suddenly the vet had deftly snagged the skin at the back of his neck. Peter felt that weird paralysis slip over his brain like a warm fuzzy blanket he fought against with all of his tiny strength as his limbs went slack and his tail tucked itself tight against his side. Then he was being lifted and transferred to the doctor’s chest, helpless and more than ready to hopelessly scream at everything.

But first, he had to endure the vet lifting him up to eye level, hand held supportingly under Peter’s ass and clinically bored brown eyes giving his face a careful inspection.

“You did a good job washing that out,” the vet said blandly.

“It was like washing the ass of our lord and savior, Chris Hemsworth.”

“He’s definitely going to need antibiotics.”

Peter heard Deadpool slap his hands to his face, “Oh say it isn’t so, Lord of the Thunder as been injured?”

“The kitten.”

“It’s a boy!” Deadpool exclaimed like a suddenly stressed and elated new parent.

Another sigh from the vet.

Peter was determinedly attempting to die of mortification as the vet retracted the finger that had been holding up his tail to look at what was going on back there.

“He’s also going to need deworming as well as tick and flea drops.”

“Mmm, yummy.”

“As well as his shots. I would usually weigh him but that’s only for the owner’s peace of mind and that’s a lost cause in this case-“

“-You should try stand up in Vegas, doc.”

“-And I can already tell this kitten is underweight. I am going to give you a special high calorie diet. A blend of dry and wet food that will get his weight up-“

“Oh yay, my favorite flavors are salmon and liver.”

“-But until tomorrow, give him low salt chicken broth. Otherwise the shock of the food might just kill him.”

Peter was unceremoniously spilled out onto the stainless steel surface of the examining table. Prior to this, he had been too mortified and overwhelmed by being rolled around and inspected in the vet’s hands to do much more than flail. But the second the pads of his paws hit the cold metal he let out a yowl.

And then continued to do so as the doc reached into the pocket of his white coat and pulled out a syringe filled with yellow liquid.

Peter took one look at it and spun the other way.

Red and black gloves were immediately all over him, “Oh, sweetie, I know we didn’t negotiate a safe word yet. Daddy’s sorry. Let’s do that now. If you want us to stop, say ‘Consenting play is the best play’.”

Peter glared up at him, shoving his tiny paw against a finger in an effort to peel the hand off of him and completely missed the pinch of the vet’s fingers at the scruff of his neck a second before a dull, sharp pain lanced through the skin there. A cold ache suddenly shot into the patch of skin. It was muffled by the pinch of the fingers and as the fingers let go, Peter wasn’t quite sure if a shot had been administered or not. What he did know was that his attention had been stolen by Deadpool and Peter was going to keep a better eye on that vet from now on.

But his face was caught in warm, leather gloved fingers, stopping him from turning his head and tearing the doctor’s finger off. Instead he was left to glare up at Deadpool and do his best to cuss him out with a kitten’s admittedly lacking vocal cords.

Deadpool just cooed back nonsense at him. Peter was so beyond pissed off right now.

Until he felt another pinch, this time to his side.

Before he could stifle the response, his eyes flashed up the the white eyes of the Deadpool mask and a high little mew of fear crept treacherously from his throat. Peter was immediately mortified. He was Spider-Man! What the hell was that.

“Stop,” Deadpool barked.

At first, Peter thought the mercenary was talking to him, but then he realized Deadpool had been addressing the vet when the pinching fingers were batted away.

“He needs these shots.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling me what only crazy people and idiots don’t know. Give the kid a chance to breath.”

“Its better to get it over with as quickly as possible.”

“My brave little toaster can do this, he just needs a minute to put his game face on.”

The vet sighed but then Deadpool was scooping Peter up and setting him on his chest. It was at that moment that Peter realized he was shaking. A warm hand rubbed at his back as Deadpool’s voice rumbled in his chest.

“Okay, Sweetums, what do we say to the Lord of Death?”

Peter tried his best to roll his one eye. If Deadpool was going to steal his pep talk from a show where most of the characters died and half of their story arcs were completely slaughtered because the writers obviously would rather have shallowly violent characters than the interesting and complex ones from the books, Peter was going to bite him again. Of course, that was assuming he was quoting the show. But he was pretty safe there since no one on the planet thought the Merc with a Mouth would be able to sit still through those door stoppers.

“Take a deep breath, baby. Remember that meat loaf we talked about? Once we’re done here I’ll get you a plate of that oily and and somehow also soggy goodness bigger than your entire body and you can just go to town.”

“That would definitely kill him.”

Deadpool reached down with one hand and pulled one of his guns on the vet. Peter’s eye widened and he looked between the two men in alarm. What the hell? As he going to have to stop a murder? Right now? Mere steps from death? He would, but damn would this roller coaster ever stop.

“Shut up, Christopher Lloyd.”

The vet seemed to, amazingly, ignore the gun pointed at his face. Peter was beginning to suspect this wasn’t your average vet.

“Most of the ingredients in the average meat loaf are toxic to a cat. Garlic for example, could easily kill a kitten in this bad of shape. I wasn’t kidding about the carefully planned diet. This animal hasn’t eaten in days and shows signs of having been malnourished long before that.”

Peter sniffed at that. Shows what the doctor knew. He’d only been a kitten for four days. And he had eaten plenty before that… Ok, yeah, strike that, the doc probably knew his shit. Peter hadn’t had much actual real food besides the pizza and ramen food groups for years, outside of when he visited Aunt May and they went out for greasy Chinese and Thai after she burnt something in her kitchen that was meant to be a balanced dinner

“If you want to keep it for more than a few days,” The vet continued, “You’ll need to scrape together what fragments of focus you have and not poison it the minute you leave here. You have a respo-“

“Okay, let me stop you there. You have given me the inspiration for the best pep talk I stole from a badass way more badass than me, and don’t get me started on his ass, because hot, smokey damn,” Deadpool said before lifting Peter up to eye level and making awkwardly long eye contact. Peter stared back, for some reason compelled to win this staring contest. Even if he couldn’t tell when Deadpool blinked behind the mask.

“Ok, cutest fifth of Voltron, are you ready for the magical words that will get you through the painful injections that will keep you from getting rabies and joining the undead with me?”

Peter just wanted to go back to sleep. His body was seriously running on rage and fear at this point. And he was just so tired.

“Ok, I call tell from the powerful boredom in your eyes that you are ready. My super effective pep talk is: With great power comes great responsibility. There, see? Now you got this little baby. Only three more shots.”

Peter overcame the strangeness of getting one of his own pep talks presented back to him in kitten form in time to tilt his head enough and see the vet hold up four fingers.

“Three shots,” Deadpool repeated smoothly, “It’ll be so fun and then you get some old people cat food after. But you have to promise to share. I’m a big growing girl who needs to keep her stripper legs firm and curvy.”

Peter’s exhaustion faded like cotton candy in a raccoon’s water pool when the vet drew close and pulled out another syringe. Peter’s kitten growl was sounding as worn out as he was, but he didn’t fucking care. He did not want to get stabbed with another huge needle!

“That’s it, baby bear, like Friday night at the truck stop,” Deadpool murmured not so soothingly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state that I have no medical training with animals or otherwise, obviously, and only know the little I know from what I have scrounged together so I don’t neglect or poison my pets. So if there are any issues you spot with the medical stuff, that’s my bad and I hope it wasn’t too distracting.
> 
> And if you’re looking for a cameo in the vet, I decided I preferred Deadpool going to some old back alley mob doctor with a vet practice than someone we’d all recognize. Made more sense to me.
> 
> Anyways, it’s fun to hear from all of you!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope your summer is going great!

Peter has been reduced to a limp, vaguely grumbling ball of fur draped over Deadpool's arm by the time they reach the pet store. Upon leaving the vet, Deadpool had headed straight for the little pet store four blocks away with remarkably few distractions.

He only stopped once to admire a fire red motorcycle so expensive Peter was blinded by the lens flares shooting off of it. Peter had let slip an indignant mewl when he caught the glimmer of the motorcycles’ keys disappearing into Deadpool’s palm. Then Peter’s ears snapped flat to his head as those keys were immediately used to scratch a line down the side of the yellow and black sports car parked beside it, emitting a horrifyingly loud screech that gave a few of the passers by pause.

Peter had watched all of this with irritation. It was property damage. But it wasn’t hurting anyone besides two rich guys, one of which was double parked. So… Peter decided to just kind of keep an eye out for the owners, brace himself to stop a murder if they stormed out of one of the buildings.

Peter was just glad no one was trying to stab him with needles anymore.

Under Peter’s watchful eye, they had arrived at the pet store murder free.

Which meant that the second they hit the relatively calm store interior with its boring overhead music, Peter felt the inevitable exhaustion hit him. He met it with resignation at this point. Sure he was worried why he was sleeping so much, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it and the vet had said his body seemed fine. So he just let it happen for now. He’d figure it out eventually. He just needed a nap first.

Or two. And still, every time he woke up, Deadpool was still there, messing with what seemed to be every item in the store. And then actually buying some of it. Peter lay across Deadpool’s forearm, legs dangling to either side of it like a particularly apathetic jaguar on a well muscled tree branch and watched items get thrown into their cart. Seven tiny bags of kitten food, all of the cans of soft food that had 'hauntingly judgemental' cat models, a litter box and three different kinds of litter. And an unholy amount of animal toys.

Peter was trying not to wonder too hard what had happened to the small bag of ‘special food’ the vet had off handedly dropped on the counter for him before they left.

He found it easy not to wonder as Deadpool tucked Peter more securely into the crook of one arm and ripped the packaging off a sparkly pink dog collar with a cubic zirconia bow dangling from the front and clipped the collar around his own neck. After taking a moment to admire himself wearing the leash, Deadpool had ushered a terrified looking cashier through what was probably the most confusingly Power Ranger themed transaction she had ever had.

Then Peter was carried outside where Deadpool just dumped all of the purchases into the back seat of a cab that was waiting for him when he walked out of the store. Peter hadn't even seen him call for one. He assumed it had been while he was passed out.

And then Deadpool had reached into the open window of the car and handed the driver a box of dewormer that he'd apparently shoplifted.

"Um," said the driver, "Mr. Pool, I don't have worms."

"Oh, not yet, you don't, Dopinder," Deadpool replied ominously.

"Ah, ok," Dopinder replied shakily while eyeing the box before setting it down on the dash, "So what majestically violent job are we on today?"

"The most majestic job of all, Dopinder," Deadpool said, "Today is the day I begin to strive for something more. Not because I want to. But because the media has systematically trained my emotions to tragically turn to one thing and one thing only for solace from the misery of existence. One thing that will only leave me more hollow and scarred than I already am."

Dopinder suddenly seemed very uncomfortable, "Sex?"

Deadpool was silent for a moment, "God, we need to get you laid."

Dopinder let out the most awkward laugh while staring at his steering wheel, "Please."

"Segue out of the pit of awkward dialogue I am in no way focused enough to explore," Deadpool said, "No, my critically thirsty friend, the job is not sex. Its Motherhood! Quick hold this."

And the suddenly Peter was twisting mid air as Deadpool tossed him through the cab window and landing on something soft, his claws out to stabilize his landing.

He looked down at the old but well cared for denim beneath his claws. And then looked up at the sound of air escaping from a balloon. Or a cab driver not really containing a very high pitched scream. Peter immediately retracted his claws from the poor man's junk.

Dopinder took a shaky breath and raised his hands carefully into the air until they hovered next to his head, "Mr. Pool, I do not think I am the right man for this job. I will always be there to catch you when you come running out of a job drenched in blood, but I don’t- And he’s gone.”

Peter glanced over to see Deadpool disappearing back into the pet store.

Dopinder huffed and slapped a palm against the steering wheel. Peter startled at the sudden sound, instinctively crouching while his ears locked back against his head and his eyes widened.

Dopinder looked down and suddenly jumped like he’d just experienced an electric shock.

“Ok we are definitely going to move you now. You are in a place where we both know you cannot be trusted. Don’t bite me please, Mr. Pool’s cat.”

Needless to say, Peter did not bite the man as he was gently lifted via some painfully slow movements and then deposited carefully atop the precarious pile of bagged and canned cat food currently dominating the passenger seat and most of the floor.

There was a long, awkward silence as they both waited for Deadpool to return, music trembling hesitantly from the blown out taxi speakers. The awkwardness suddenly ended when Peter realized this was his chance. The passenger window was wide open. He was closer to Stark tower now. Not actually that close, but closer. And he’d had a bath. He was good to get out of here before the mercenary got back. Deadpool’s apartment had been on the fourth floor of a dank and gloomy building with long, bare hallways and doors that would not lend themselves well to a kitten trying to use them. If Deadpool brought him back to the apartment, there was no telling when Peter might have another chance to escape. Most people didn’t take their kittens outside a lot, right? Peter didn’t recall seeing people carrying kittens with them while they shopped the way they did small dogs. He’d seen someone walking their cat on a leash at the park once. But that was once! And Peter didn’t have time to grow into an adult cat. That could take years!

Once the choice was laid out for him like that, Peter found the decision pretty simple. And his growling stomach could go whine to someone who cared.

Peter stood up, placing his front paws on the warm plastic of the car door and straining to see through the window. He wasn’t quite big enough to see down to the sidewalk, but he didn’t care. He was going to jump out of this taxi and run for his freedom. Even if a part of him was mourning the mountain of food he was literally standing on. And it smelled so good he wanted to cry. He knew that cat food had never smelled like actual food to him as a human but his kitten nose was painfully obsessed with the smells wafting out of the bags below his feet.

But he would resist their disturbingly meaty ambrosia. He was Spider-Man, for god’s sake.

Peter glanced over his shoulder to make sure the cab driver was still obliviously singing softly to the windshield, before turning back to the open side window and taking a deep, fortifying breath.

He bunched up his hind legs in preparation to jump. He only had one chance. A failed attempt would definitely get Dopinder’s attention and then he just knew that window would get rolled up, closing his last and only chance at freedom.

He could do this. Trembling legs and starving muscles be damned. He could do this.

His muscles bunched and his eyes locked on the grey face of the building outside of the window.

And he jumped.

Right into a pair of red gloved hands that swooped in from out of fucking nowhere.

“I believe I can flyyyyyy!!!!” Deadpool shrieked, holding Peter up above his head, “I belieeeeeeeeve in the Circle of Life!”

“Ah, Mr. Pool! Welcome back,” Dopinder tried to say but Deadpool was spinning now, still singing.

“I think about it every night and day! Spread my wings and fly away! Oh oh oh sweet child o’ mine!”

Peter’s ears were flat to his head and the spinning was not agreeing with his miserably empty stomach. No, he did not like the spinning. Or the cripplingly painful disappointment slicing through his chest. Just another moment and he would have been free! Free to find some way to contact the Avengers or Strange. To get his body back. To be done with this tiny, fluffy body and the nightmare it was forcing him through.

And while all of the disappointment did in fact make him want to cry. So much. It definitely also made him pissed beyond reason.

So, when the arc of the next twirl brought him close enough, he snapped out a paw and made a solid hit right between Deadpool’s eyes.

The panda mask jerked back and the white eyes of the mask turned their complete focus to Peter, who kept his ears flat to his head and hissed.

Deadpool seemed to be speechless for a long, tense moment. Peter wondered if this would be the moment where Deadpool’s murderous crazy and Peter’s frail, helpless body finally clashed to the inevitable conclusion. Deadpool was going to throw Peter on the ground and curb stomp his head. Tie him to the front of the cab as a hood ornament. Cut him open and use his fur to make mittens. Peter didn’t know. It was Deadpool. The madman was completely unpredictable.

Peter’s anger was wavering but not gone. And whatever Deadpool’s disco rave of a brain decided to do, it would likely give Peter the chance to fight. He was so ready. Because the crazed red of frustration and anger hanging on the edges of his sight was screaming for it.

But Deadpool was a madman and unpredictable. Peter knew this.

Which was why Peter should not have been so surprised when the mercenary didn’t do anything even remotely violent..

Instead, Deadpool made the most disturbingly affectionate cooing noise and pulled Peter close to his face. Before Peter could react the red nose of the mask had briefly touched against Peter’s.

“Boop!” Deadpool said, “Ok, el bachero, let’s ride this pony to our sweet bachelor’s pad and split a six pack of gravy lovers salmon delight!”

Peter suddenly found himself tucked in the crook of the mercenary’s arm like a football as they slid into the back seat of the taxi, additional bags of merchandise from the pet store dangling from Deadpool’s arms like the world’s noisiest fringe. Peter eyed the huge bag of cat litter on the seat beside them with dread. He imagined once he gave his digestive system something to do, certain practicalities of being in a nonhuman body would have to be faced. But until then, Peter firmly turned his face away from the bag and squirmed in Deadpool’s hold.

The passenger door closed and the taxi pulled into traffic as Deadpool shook off his bags of pet things and lifted Peter in front of his face again.

“It’s Christmas Day for you, brown wonder,” Deadpool said excitedly, “I have a fool proof plan for winning back your tiny cold heart and its going to be overwhelmingly fun! Like a bouncy house full of cocaine fun! So you can put that Spidey glare away and relax!”

Peter heard those words like a splash of cold water to the face, his ears immediately snapping back close to his head as his mind raced. Deadpool knew he was Spiderman? How? What the hell had he done that had tipped the mercenary off? Beyond using his tiny paws to write it out with a pen, what could he possibly have done to lead Deadpool to that conclusion? Maybe his behavior, mannerisms would hint that he maybe wasn’t just a cat, since he hadn’t ever really been around a lot of cats and he’d been having a bad few days that had knocking him resoundingly off of his best game. But Spider-Man? What could he have possibly done to lead Deadpool to that?

“Oh,” Deadpool cooed again, “You put the Spidey glare away too strongly. Now you look like you shit yourself. Hey, snookums, shhh.”

Suddenly Peter was pressed to that warm chest, its firm strength and the steady beat of the heart he could feel beneath it not quite having the calming affect it had when Peter felt safe and anonymous.

“I haven’t seen Spidey in days and days! Once our Christmas is over and you love me again, we should go find him! I bet he would love you! He’s always saving kittens from trees and burning buildings. Actually I’ve never seen him burn a building. But the papers say he does and I can sense with the force that cats also love setting buildings on fire. So you’ll get along like eggs and rice. Oh my glorious red ass! We could put you in a tree and Spidey would have to come save you! You’re like my very own bat signal! My Boy Wonder! We will get you some scaly green panties and a mask and a cape and…”

Peter wasn’t really listening at all now.

Deadpool hadn’t figured it out against all odds. Peter was still safe. Because if Deadpool had figured out who he had hostage, Peter had no idea what he would do, but it probably wouldn’t be pleasant. Because sure, Deadpool had often acted adoring and friendly to Spider-Man when they bumped into each other. Seriously, it was a painful level of focus where Deadpool loudly ignored any other superheroes around, besides Steve or Thor obviously. But all that aside, the two of them had also had their share of fights. Knock out drag out fights about the immorality of murder. Yeah, Peter still classified Deadpool as a definite danger to his life.

And he had no doubt this eerily cuddly Deadpool would vanish like a fever dream the moment Deadpool knew who he currently had snuggled against his chest.

But for now, Peter took a much needed breath and went limp against Deadpool’s heat.

“-paint your claws red and… you ok, littlest robin?” Deadpool said, derailing his rant to look down at Peter and rub a thumb over Peter’s forehead.

Like a switch was flipped with that thumb, Peter’s entire body began rumbling with a tired purr.

“This is your stop, Mr. Pool.”

“Thank you, slim and meaty,” Deadpool replied to the cab driver.

Peter heard the cab door open and felt Deadpool shift to kick the door open, “Feel free to leave the bags on the couch.”

“I do not know that that is-“

“Al has been asking about you. Don’t make me answer another string of awkward questions. Mama needs her sugar baby.”

Peter’s eyes were firmly closed. He was running to sleep like he was starving. Hah, he actually was starving. The cold stone of pain in his belly was his evidence.

“And you never know, maybe she’ll give you some money for the fare. Not that you care about that. I know how much you love my high fives.”

Peter finally drifted off around the pain in his stomach, the grumbling murmurs of Dopinder getting out of the car barely reaching him.

 ——————————————————- 

Peter woke up like water hitting a hot skillet. He was on his feet with his ears swiveling before he’d even opened his eyes.

Because he smelled food.

There was a heavenly ambrosia in his nose that blanked out all thought. Like pizza delivery after a three day studying and ramen binge. Like a warm, firm hug from Aunt May after a hard night of patrolling. Like that goddamn bath he’d had in Deadpool’s sink.

That smell. He wanted whatever was making it. Badly.

He scanned the room. Barely registering the room, with its bare walls and old lady sitting on the couch. Because he was standing on a oblong coffee table. A coffee table that contained a little battered plastic hello kitty bowl. Containing a little cocktail umbrella and steaming yellow liquid that smelled exactly like chicken soup.

He was scrambling out of the blanket he’d been lying on before he had a chance to worry about anything. Where was he? Who the hell cared. That quiet old lady sitting in a dimly lit room in sunglasses? Nope. Poisoned broth? Bring it on.

Peter had stuck his nose in the warm broth before he even got his tongue out. Which meant he spent another precious moment gasping and sneezing the precious, delicious nectar of the gods out of his nose.

And his was so hungry and it smelled even stronger lining the inside of his respiratory system but his stomach was so empty he felt too frantic to figure out how to breathe, his tongue flicking out and dragging over his nose and mouth to get the drops of broth on his face as he wheezed.

God, every muscle in his body ached. Peter was really worried about that fact until his two last brain cells got together and helped him realize that bone deep, thrumming pain was from the shots. Because, oh yeah, he’d survived multiple injections by giant fucking needles today. Goddamn. So he could push that pain back, ignore it and focus on eating.

Then he felt hands on him. Familiar hands.

“Hey, boy wonder, good job so far. A+ job drowning yourself in your soup,” Deadpool said softly as he wiped at the fur on Peter’s face. Peter finally got the last of the obstructing broth out of his lungs and just stood there gasping and feeling gratitude that Deadpool hadn’t picked him up when he’d arrived. Being contained and lifted while suffocating wasn’t fun. He knew from experience.

With that last thought, Peter charged at the broth. Or tried to.

Because the restraining fingers did not budge. Peter felt desperation flush through him, eyes unable to rip away from the bowl and a rough rumbling growl rattling in his chest.

Because, damnit what now.

“We’re going to slow this down a little, cupcake,” Deadpool said, “Lower the lights, set the mood. Romance your stomach and treat it right and it will let you keep some of that broth. Now, open up.”

Then Peter saw Deadpool dip something into the broth.

No.

Not happening.

Peter had some limits on this ridiculous situation and they’d just hit one.

Deadpool was currently holding an eye dropper. Its tip was in the broth and Peter could see the precious liquid being pulled up into it.

So that Deadpool could feed him with it. Like a baby kitten. Which he was. Temporarily.

But he didn’t need an eye dropper. He could feed himself. Because he was actually a fully grown adult human who didn’t need the damn eye dropper.

He made this perfectly clear by placing his paw decisively on the eye dropper when it was brought close enough and glaring up at the mercenary.

Deadpool looked at him for a long moment and then set the eye dropper down with a loud clunk, squirting broth all over Peter’s chest.

“Ok, fine, but try to figure out how to drink with your mouth this time. I can’t do kitten CPR and you don’t want Al to do it. Old lady breath.”

Peter looked down at his chest and then back up at Deadpool. Then, without breaking eye contact, Peter walked over to the broth. Annoyance burning bright in his chest, Peter finally looked away and lowered his head, tongue flicking out to the broth. Sweet Falcon’s firm and beautiful chest. This tasted so good. It took Peter only a moment to completely forget about Deadpool hovering over him and focus completely on consuming the broth as fast as he could get his tongue to move.

He could feel the warmth rolling down his throat. Rich and delicious and finally something was reaching down into that ache inside. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how this tiny body had begun to feel like it was shrinking in on itself, like he was turning into a little ball of fur and bones.

But now, with each lap of his tongue, the hunger and pain was being driven back by the warm delicious food.

Which was why Peter nearly tore Deadpool’s hand off with his teeth when the man’s hands curled around his body and began to pull him away from the bowl. A furious, strangled yowl ripped out of Peter’s throat and one back foot snapped up to push the hand away.

“Hi there, Chuck Nowland,” Deadpool said in a chipper voice that crashed against Peter’s desperate anger like nails on a chalk board, “This is your friendly reminder to breath, as any more of that hitting your insides and we’re both going to get a demonstration of where each of your exits are. That entire bowl is definitely your bowl. Don’t worry. I don’t want it. I finished off a case of the juicy liver and chicken patte just a few minutes ago. So I’m good. Just think about other things for a bit with me, like not throwing up. I don’t want to see a sick kitten today. That’d be like watching college graduates try to earn enough money to live. Ok, you ready to try again?”

Peter was definitely ready but Deadpool had already nudged him back to the bowl before he finished the sentence. Peter was sucking down more broth before he even realized they were back to letting him eat. Over the frantic laps of him tongue, he heard, “Slowly…”

Peter glanced over at where Deadpool had set his head down on the table to glare directly at Peter. Because yeah, Peter could feel it through the mask. So, because what Deadpool was telling him to do was definitely something Peter should have been doing on his own, Peter made only a single tiny grumbling noise before forcing his drinking to slow.

Deadpool gave a contented sigh when he did that but didn’t remove his ear from the coffee table.

There was a rare long moment where the only sounds where Peter drinking and Deadpool breathing. Until.

“That thing is going to give all of us fleas,” the old lady on the couch suddenly said.

The old lady had been completely silent up until now. Perfectly good reason to forget she was there. And then jump so hard he fell in his bowl of broth.

Peter jolted back hacking and coughing and shaking his head and feeling very grateful he couldn’t visibly blush in this body as Deadpool wheezed with him. Of course Deadpool was laughing instead of recovering from drowning in soup. Peter finally cleared his airways and just stood there, appetite now gone, glaring at the old lady. And old lady that, he only just now realized, probably wasn’t even phased by his glare because she was wearing black out sunglasses indoors. Because she was most likely blind or close to it.

Peter would actually be more flabbergasted by the woman sitting so calmly on Deadpool’s house if the last few days hadn’t been like astral projecting into the Homeward Bound movies. But he was confused. How was she so calm. She was wearing a bathrobe for fucks sake. And little old lady slippers.

When Deadpool finally pushed up off of the floor, Peter flicked broth off the tips of his ears and looked away from the woman, determined to ignore the mercenary’s pleased little snickers.

“Ok, Ozzy, I think you’ve definitely had enough hits for now. Come snuggle with me and Al for a minute.”

Suddenly Peter was being swaddled in an old rough towel covered in what was absolutely bloodstains. Deadpool lifted him up and carried him around to another sink. Peter didn’t fight, but he wasn’t sure he could handle a bath right now. He could feel his body struggling with the food, nausea and exhaustion fighting for dominance as it tried to begin digesting. But all Deadpool did was grab a rag off the counter, run it under the faucet for a second and then carefully bring it up to Peter’s face, wiping away the broth clinging to the fur there. Peter squinted against the wet cloth and let it happen.

“So you think he has fleas, Al?” Deadpool said to, presumably, the woman on the couch, “Well I’ll have you know, I just had a certified vet give him the full prison treatment and you know what he told me? That I have here the most special and talented of all kittens, capable of saving the world some day with the right mentoring. I’m going to show him to Spidey. See if he’ll co-parent him with me.”

Al snorted as Deadpool set the rag back on the counter next to a where a bag of salt was sitting next to a glass container labeled sugar in large black letters. Before Peter could blink, Deadpool had tipped the salt bag into the container, slick as a Las Vegas card dealer.

“One of these days, that Spider-Man is going to get sick of you following him around like a starving puppy and put you out of your misery,” the oblivious old woman said from the couch.

“Oh yes please. He’ll finally hit my ‘die and stay dead’ spot I’ve been trying so hard to get off on and I’ll pop his murder cherry. Sign me up for all of that,” Deadpool said as he walked over to the couch and sank down on it with a full body sigh of exhaustion. He adjusted Peter onto his chest for a minute, pulling the towel away from around Peter and then running his hands down Peter’s back. Peter glanced between them sleepily as he tried not to feel too awkward at the direction the conversation had turned.

“You really think he’s that good, huh? All the fights he’s been in, there aren’t any forgotten bodies in the back allies, people he killed that no one was around to hold him accountable for?” Al asked.

Deadpool looked over at her, “Absolutely not.”

Peter closed his eyes as pain twisted in his chest, old and familiar and still so sharp. Made even sharper by the conviction in the mercenaries voice. Because Deadpool was wrong. Completely wrong. There were bodies. So. Many. Far too many. They flashed in his mind like a gun on a hair trigger. Ben coughing on his own blood. Gwen dangling limp, hair dancing in the wind. Buildings collapsing. Bodies bleeding out in the shadows, killed just before he could get there. Deaths he witnessed because he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, strong enough. Or because he had too much strength.

Peter lowered his head that small distance and set his nose on Deadpool’s chest as their voices drifted by unnoticed above him.

Then a black gloved finger was running over his forehead and the sensation pulled him out of the memories enough to crack the one good eye open to meet Deadpool’s.

“You can hurl on the suit,” Deadpool said softly, “That’s not the worst its seen.”

“Oh god is that the truth,” Al said.

“Spidey is a hero, Al. And he’s the best of them. You’ve never talked to him, but if you did, you’d see what I mean. You can feel it tearing out the evil unaliving urges and replacing them with the theme song from Jurassic Park. Like he’s the super hero world’s own Lucy Pevensie and no one has realized it. How can they not. He even handles me with almost gently careful treatment as he’s kicking me into walls. His kicks rarely break bones. Like I said, he’s the best there is.”

“Ok,” Al groaned tiredly, slowly leveraging herself off of the couch, “The sun shines out his ass, I get it.”

Deadpool made a weird choking noise in his throat and then shouted after the woman disappearing into another room through a battered door, “Whole galaxies shine out that transcendent ass!”

Then Deadpool seemed to settle into the couch, quietly mumbling about shitty little suns and, to Peter’s mortification, the apparently delectable and hypnotic dimensions of Spiderman’s ass.

But here, in this apartment with no one else around and nothing to do but digest, the manic energy that had been overwhelmingly and constantly rattling out of the man all day, had actually always filled every moment Peter had ever been around the man… was gone.

And all that was left was this man quietly talking to himself while idly and so so gently running his thumbs over a kitten’s head.

Peter didn’t quite know why that was hitting him so hard. It was a person sitting relatively quietly on a couch. Not that big a deal.

But as Peter sank into sleep, for what felt like the thousandth time in the last few days, to the sound of Deadpool’s voice, he wondered if the big deal was that he’d never heard Deadpool sound even remotely relaxed.

Peter’s rumbling purr paired with the warm hands on his back and the even warmer chest beneath his feet. And the last thing he wondered was if Deadpool found the feel of the purring as calming as Peter did.

 

 

 


End file.
